


Denouement... ?

by Elsinore_and_Inverness



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cheesecake, Crying, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Minor Injuries, Music, Phone Calls & Telephones, Post-Canon, References to Drugs, References to Shakespeare, Scars, Sharing a Bed, Violins, real estate, risotto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 17:37:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12137652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsinore_and_Inverness/pseuds/Elsinore_and_Inverness
Summary: Sherlock and John rebuilding their lives after season 4.





	Denouement... ?

**Author's Note:**

> Oops. I accidentally posted this twice. The rest of it is posted together, you should be able to find it if you click my name

'Where to?' The driver asked as the they entered the vehicle.

'Your- your place?' Sherlock wondered, looking at John.

'The house. Yes, until we can get the wall back up.' He told the driver the address.

'What about after that?' Sherlock asked.

'I don't know.'

'Are you warm enough?'

'Not particularly.'

Sherlock unfastened his seatbelt and slid closer to John.

'Sherlock, you are already soaking wet.'

Sherlock closed his eyes thoughtfully. 

John very tentatively put his arm around him. 'I don't know what to say.'

The car sped through through the dark countryside and slowed as it entered the brightly lit streets of London. 

John gazed out the window as the grass and fields, the occasional moonlit sheep wandering uphill, gave way to rows of houses.

Eventually they reached what was once John and Mary's home.

Sherlock stepped out of the car first, followed more slowly by John, noticing to his dismay that he was limping. He fell back a few steps, allowing John to reach the front door first. He unlocked the door as the car took off into the night.

Sherlock stood in the doorway for a few seconds. The guilt was still there, looming like an inescapable shadow. 

John flicked the lights on. 

Sherlock stepped over the threshold.

It was so empty in that house. So hollow, like the ceilings were too high.

John was definitely limping now. They made their way to the bedroom at the back of the house, where John collapsed onto the bed in relief.  
Sherlock took off his coat, draping it over the top of the door and began unbuttoning his shirt which was still damp despite the long car ride.  
John was staring at him. Of course he would have scars. It made sense. He'd just never put it together before. Sherlock had seemed so- indestructible. The pink and red imprint of a healed bullet wound just beneath his ribcage. The marks of a hypodermic needle where a syringe had entered his forearms far too many times. Sherlock turned around and John had to keep himself from gasping. The raised skin of repeated whipping and weeks of torture spiderwebbed across his back.

'Sherlock, what-'

'When I was gone. I thought you knew.'

'You never said.'

John hadn't realized until that moment how long it had been since they were together.

'What have they done to you?'

'Old wounds, my friend. From enemies long gone.'

'Sherlock.'

 

'Yes?'

'I need you to know that- That-'

'How are you ankles?'

'They're fine.'

'They are not. You can barely walk. Let me see them.'

'I'm a doctor.'

'I'm your friend.'

'You have a chemistry degree'

'Let me help you.'

John had lost his shoes in the bottom of the well and had been wearing a pair of boots provided by their motley crew of rescuers.  
Sherlock very carefully unlaced and removed the boots, revealing deep cuts where metal had grated against bone.

He let out an inarticulate cry of sympathy, shaking his head.

'You're lucky you're small.'

John snorted.

'How are you not in shock? You could have lost your feet-'

'Broke a few metatarsals.' John admitted.

'I tried to get the manacles off...'

'You nearly drowned yourself, is what you did.'

'Medical tape?'

'Second drawer on the right.'

'Bandages?'

'Third drawer.'

'Lollies?'

'Sherlock.'

'Okay.'

Sherlock set about dressing John's injures according to his instructions, wrapping the tape in a figure eight pattern.

Then his phone rang. It was Molly.

Sherlock took a deep breath and tapped the green circle on the screen.

'Hello. Yes. I know we need to talk. But can we do it in person? I don't think I can- I-'

'I was just calling to make sure you were okay.' Molly's voice came through other end of the line. 'I heard about what happened.'

'I'm...' Sherlock looked at John, wondering what definition of 'okay' he was intended to employ, 'I don't know. Can we do this later?'

'Yes, yes of course.'

Sherlock discontinued the call. Or it may have been Molly. He wasn't sure.

'Like this?' He asked John, repositioning the angle of a bandage on his ankle. John nodded.

Sherlock stood up for a moment, then sat beside him on the bed.

'You're still soaked. I forget.'

'It's fine. I can- Actually, can you get me a towel?'

Sherlock returned a few seconds later and wrapped a towel around his shoulders.

'I need you to know that you're a good person, Sherlock.' 

'You're in shock. Said that would happen.'

'You care about people.'

'Delirium. Blood loss and hypothermia.'

'Listen to me-'

Sherlock held him at arms length, looking at him. 

Then he closed his eyes. He leaned forward and kissed him. Just a fraction of an instant. A whisper of skin against skin. It could almost have been an accident. Or a dream.

'I always listen to you.'

'No you don't.'

'Listening is not the same thing as doing what someone says... Or believing it.'

'Well, that's too bad because I was just going to say-'

'What?'

'Just now. That was good.'


End file.
